Pray For The Preacher's Daughter
by ArcaFeretory
Summary: "I can be a saint if you want me to, but I will make a sinner out of you. I'm innocent outside, but I'm about to blow your mind. I'm a little good, a little bad, the best and worst you've ever had. You can see my halo or my horns, so be warned." - AU, high school.
1. Chapter 1

**Beh, ciao carissimi lettori. Pretty sure that's right. My Italian is a little rusty. :P I started writing this before I finished ****_A Thing About You_**** and rewrote it four times. Geez. So yeah, this is that story I promised I was working on. Ta da!~ **

**First thing, this one has perspective changes, denoted by page breaks or new chapters. Time leaps are marked with **-*…*…*- **just to be fancy. You won't have to worry about too many character perspectives though, it'll only alternate between PB and Marceline.**

**Secondly, this is going to be a ****_very_**** slow story. I can't put enough emphasis on the 'very'. I mean that the story develops slowly and that it will be long ****_and_**** that updates will be totally random. I don't like to upload something if I'm not sure I'll finish it, so you've at least got that assurance from me. Just be patient. **

**Yeah... so that note got pretty long. Apologies. Here we go.**

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**~PRAY FOR THE PREACHER'S DAUGHTER~**

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**Saturday 18****th**** January 2014**

The door was an awful green colour; lurid and streaked as though the paint had been splashed across it rather haphazardly. It was chipped along one edge – she presumed because it was grabbed there a great deal – and the knob was rusty. Two well-trimmed plants, their tops in perfect spheres, stood sentinel to either side of the entrance.

Chewing the inside of her cheek, she stepped back and peered up at the rest of the sprawling house. Made primarily of red brick and white washed wood, the building was a shambling two storey affair that seemed altogether too big for one person. It was planted firmly off-centre of the obnoxiously large block of land, wire fences ambling about across the paddocks in seemingly random patterns, a big red barn off to one side, a blue steel shed to the other; housing horses and machines respectively. A garage for the cars was nestled beside the house; it looked rather larger than it needed to be. But so far, that was just a trend.

_This has _got_ to be the wrong address_, she mused, fingers drumming on the handle of her suitcase. _I don't ever recall seeing any of this before._ Not that she could remember visiting the tiny town of Reich before anyway.

What kind of strange family had her mother kept sequestered about the country? Shading her eyes with one hand, she blinked up at the windows on the second floor. No, she was pretty sure this was the wrong place. One man did _not_ need this much space.

Still, the number at the far end of the winding drive had been the one she was directed to. Which made this house the one she was looking for. Unless there were other properties on the same block. Did they do that out here?

Sighing, her suitcase clicking as its wheels crossed the wooden planks of the deck, she rang the doorbell once. It sang a much too peppy tune, preceding silence and then some loud clunking noises. Cursing followed. The door was wrenched open, revealing a short man with bright red hair, speckled white, showing his age. He blinked through his glasses and tilted his head as though thinking, before a smile burst across his face.

The little man blinked at her again. He had blue eyes, or eyes the colour of a stormy sky or maybe the ocean on a bad day. They were pensive and quiet, the kind of eyes one expects in a scholar. Which was fitting, since Bonnie had been told he was precisely that. Or rather… he was an English literature professor, spoke fluid German and had a fondness for poetic licence (which she knew from his yearly Christmas cards). He opened his mouth, and then closed it again without speaking. Then he opened it again. If he'd been the one observing this behaviour he would have made an eloquent comparison to some sort of fish… or large predator… no… he would have said something brilliant about it anyway. All Bonnie could think was that he'd make an excellent fly trap.

"Bonnibel!" he finally exclaimed, throwing his arms out and hugging her around the middle. It was like he was trying to lift her from the ground, probably something he'd done easily when she was four. "Come in, dear. Come in. My how you've grown. How old are you now? How was your flight? Are you hungry? I can boil the kettle if you'd like tea." Endless questions.

Bonnie frowned at the little man, her uncle, he reminded her so much of her mother. Or what little she still had of the woman anyway. His voice was familiar, just like hers; this was going to take some getting used to.

"I'm sixteen in a few months. The flight was long," she replied softly, eyeing the house. It was impeccably neat, but full of shelves and cabinets. There was so much storage that the space felt smaller for it. "I'm not especially hungry, I suppose because my body is still functioning on a different time zone. No tea, thank you."

He waved his hands happily. "Of course, of course. You must want a rest though. Let me show you to your room." The little man led her through the house to a back door. "I'm afraid I didn't have enough time to clean up one of the bedrooms for you," he apologised. "However I do have a granny flat out the back that your father used to use. He made sure my… things never spilled out there, it's yours now, I suppose." His face fell then, possibly regretting bringing up his brother-in-law. "So you can make yourself at home."

They stopped outside of an equally red brick flat, concealed behind the house proper; it was small; a single storey cowering in the shadow of its hulking neighbour. It was connected to the garage she'd noted earlier, explaining its size. Her diminutive uncle keyed the door open and ushered her through. He was right, the space was clear of any unnecessary clutter. A kitchenette with fridge and basic cooking utilities, a connected lounge room, an island divided them, providing the only eating area she could see. A short hall led away from her down which she could see four doors, no doubt a bedroom and bathroom numbered among them. The third and fourth probably included a study room and access into the garage. Or maybe a closet.

"Uncle…" she began hesitantly, not sure if he was sticking her here to keep her out of his way or something else. He cut her off though.

"Please, Bonnibel," he interjected swiftly, shaking his head. "Just call me Peter. Uncle is so dreary." He then shoved a key ring at her, sliding it into her palm before she could complain. "The red bound one is for this flat, the blue one is for the house and the green one is for the garage. Nice and simple."

Her mouth flailed at the freedom she was being handed. A fish out of water gasping for breath? A panting leopard after a long hunt? No, in the end it always came back to the fly trap. She wasn't as eloquent as her uncle and similes, awful ones more often than not, were the best she could do at short notice. "Um… thanks? But, Unc… Peter… wouldn't you rather… I don't know, keep these for yourself?"

"Nonsense," he shushed. "I work strange hours sometimes, I'd hate for you to get back from school and have to wait to be let in." He smiled sadly now. "Besides, if you're anything at all like your parents, you're a responsible girl who won't get into any trouble. You'll be fine. The laundry is in the main house though."

She returned his wan smile gently. "Thank you."

"Oh you're more than welcome, dear," he said, some of his good cheer returning. "We'll go get you enrolled in school in the morning, after church. Did you bring clothes? Did you ever go with your parents?"

Bonnibel chuckled at his enthusiasm. "Yes," she murmured, fiddling with the handle of her case again. "We used to go every Sunday. I brought clothes with me, don't worry."

"Excellent. Oh you're just going to love it here." With that, Peter hustled from the flat, leaving her with her subdued thoughts.

It was hard to imagine liking this place; it was so small, so incredibly tiny that it had blown her mind in the cab drive into town. You could walk from one end to the other and not even break a sweat. Moving here, away from all her friends, all the places she knew, her old school, the park across from their apartment building with those little kids… Reich had none of that. Reich was just a small country town in the middle of nowhere, full of farms and church-going rurals she didn't know. She didn't even really know her uncle all that well.

Sure, he had the same red hair as her mother, the same red hair she'd inherited, the same pale skin, same small stature (admittedly he had blue eyes instead of green). Other than that though, he could be a stranger. Albeit a friendly one.

She sighed, not wanting to let negative thoughts bring her down. Bonnibel was positive she could survive her last two years of high school here. Even without her parents. Immediately, she shoved those thoughts away. No use dwelling on the past, on her parents, on any of that. She would make peace with the way things were now and move on.

Still, stifling the sobs as she unpacked in the lonely flat was harder than she'd thought it would be. Bonnibel left the picture frames she'd brought with until last, setting them on the table beside her new bed, hugging her pillow to her chest, crying softly into its ruffled pink exterior until sleep snatched her away.


	2. Chapter 2

**I do think I said that updates would be sparse to begin with didn't I? They should be more regular now though (even if I am currently having trouble tearing myself away from Starbound). Yay for updates!~ c:**

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**Sunday 26****th**** January 2014**

Sunday dawned hot; a shimmering heat haze lingered across the main street. Sitting in the church on top of the hill was sweltering. Most people had folded pieces of paper up into fans in a vain attempt to cool themselves. Ormeau had been a river city and remained a relatively cool temperature. Reich, on the other hand, made no effort to even give being cool a try.

It was with much relief that Bonnibel exited the church. She hastened from the interior, stepping outside again was blinding and she shaded her eyes with one hand, clearing the doorway and searching for somewhere less awful to stand while she waited for Peter to catch up. But the heat was pretty much relentless, the sun baking, setting her fair skin to sizzling.

There was a grassed area outside the church, trees dotting the perimeter, a white flagstone path winding across the green to the cathedral. She decided that a shady space over on the grass might offer a light breeze and wandered over to loiter beneath one such tree.

Happily, it was moderately cooler under the leafy green canopy and she exhaled heavily. Turning to watch the rest of the congregation leave, she couldn't help but notice a few people who were obviously students at the school. Bonnie decided against speaking to them, there would be plenty of time for that tomorrow. Instead, she scanned the crowd for her uncle.

Peter was neck deep in a conversation with the reverend as he flowed with everyone else out of the church. They were chatting amicably, her uncle grinning broadly and the preacher – almost comically looming head and shoulders taller than the other man – was smiling a wide white smile with him. Peter waved when he spotted her across the lawn, said farewell to the preacher and hastened over to her.

He paused, getting distracted by another man, tall, slender with a shiny, bald egg-head and a strange rolling gait. Peter sank into that discussion too, only with less aplomb than the previous one. The bald man wore a citrus expression conveying deep dissatisfaction and a great deal of annoyance. Bonnibel decided instantly that she'd find the fellow grating.

"Oi," a voice said at her elbow. She looked over, a young boy had materialised beside her. "You're new here, yeah?" he asked in a strange accent. His tousled brown hair shivering in a breeze that wasn't quite strong enough to take the sting from the heat.

She blinked at him. "Yes, that's right."

He beamed at her, offering a hand. Alright, maybe calling him 'young boy' was misleading. He was her age, easily, and broad across the shoulders. Although he wasn't much taller than she was, he gave off an air of dominance, lending him a larger appearance than he actually had. "Cool. I'm Jake. Jake Martins. You're Minton's niece, right?"

Hesitantly, noticing how much larger than hers his palm was, she nodded, shaking his hand simultaneously. "Bonnibel Banner," she replied.

"Awesome. You going to the school then?"

"Yes." Bonnie glanced over her shoulder towards Peter. He was still frowning at the bald guy. "I enrolled last week."

"What year are you in? I'll give you some pointers." The boy, Jake, shoved his hands in the pockets of his faded denim jeans, still smiling. "Everyone's really friendly though; don't worry about none of that."

"Eleventh," she informed him.

His brown eyes lit up. "Extra-awesome," he cried. "Me too. I'll introduce you to all my friends. It'll be great. You'll love it here." Someone called Jake's name from across the lawn. He waved then, muttering about seeing her later, and jogged off to catch up with them, casting one last grin her way.

So he was a nice enough fellow; very enthusiastic. Still, Bonnibel decided to hold onto her reservations for the minute. Best not to leap to hasty conclusions. One friendly high-schooler did not erase her misgivings or her melancholy.

She and Peter walked home in almost silence, exchanging only a few words when Peter brought up the temperature or how she was feeling about starting at the school in the morning. Bonnie was far more interested to peek at the people who hadn't attended church. It was their prerogative; of course, she wouldn't judge them for it. But in a small town like this – where shops were closed on Sundays and everyone knew everyone else – they stood out as anomalies.

Other people spilled down the hill from the church and disappeared into town. Most would no doubt search out a chilled building and camp there for the duration of the day. Peter was one of the many who elected to stay in town for a while. He left her side and headed off to join a few of his friends. Bonnibel though, headed home. She hadn't felt very much like socialising since she got here, although once she turned up at school she had no doubt that she'd fall into her old patterns and routines.

Still, for one last day of solitude, she was more than content to sit in her air-conditioned flat and read. Naturally, she did that after all her things were packed and ready for the next day. There was no sense in being lazy.

* * *

The door creaked inwards softly, Marceline not fully sure this was such a good idea. Inside, the room was moderately well lit, the air conditioner whining loudly in the corner, filling the air with freezing cold making her shudder. She blinked, wondering if he was even in at all.

"Mr Petrikov?" she called into the classroom.

Under the window the drum kit rattled, a cymbal falling from where it was perched on the stool and clanging to the floor. With a cracking sound Marceline could hear across the room, Simon stood, stretching his back. His eyes widened when he saw her there and a smile burst across his face.

"Why aren't you at church, Mr Petrikov?" she asked, stepping inside and closing the door with a gentle click.

He waved a hand. "Oh, I had some last minute things to be doing today. School starts back tomorrow you know."

She smiled at him. "Yeah, I know. You said you wanted to see me?"

"Don't beat around the bush do you?" he chuckled, dropping onto the piano stool behind him. It wasn't unusual for him to be locked up in here; he was the school's music teacher and took his job far too seriously. He loved instruments, but sometimes Marceline thought he might love them just a little too much. "I… uh… Well, in my official capacity as the head of student affairs I have to ask you a very important favour. But," he held up a hand as she opened her mouth to argue with… _whatever_ he was planning, "as your friend, I'm hoping you'll just listen."

Her teeth clicked shut. She shuffled a little further inside and slid up onto a table covered in various wind instruments, shoulders slumped. "Go for it."

"I want you to get a tutor-"

"No," she said before he could go any further. "I don't want a tutor, Simon."

He sighed. "You need better grades, Marceline. I know your dream is to get into Driscoll; but it's a fancy college and you need better scores. You can't get in on raw talent, Marceline. Please."

Her eyes narrowed. "You know my dad has been begging me to get a tutor for years, Simon. I don't want some snooty bastard telling me all the ways I fail, all the reasons I'm not good enough. I don't need that."

Simon just kept staring at her. He tapped one nail on the cymbal beside him and _pleaded_ with his eyes. It was scary just how well a grown man could do the 'puppy-dog' look.

"No," she maintained.

"Marceline," he whined. "I'm not your father. I don't want you to go off to business school or study law or any of that junk. I want you to be an amazing musician. You know that right?"

She rolled her eyes, huffing at him, arms folded. But she couldn't control the nervous tapping of her heel against the bench. "I don't want to be tutored by one of those high and mighty pretentious types. I promise I'll hunt you down if I so much as hear a whisper about being given a tutor who looks down on me."

He lifted a finger. "I have a proposition for you then. I know how much you hate studying at home, so why don't you do it in the library after school? There are tutors there every day. Maybe one of them will meet your exceedingly high standards." Simon was wearing his best reasonable face and Marceline knew she couldn't argue with his logic.

She exhaled heavily, not wanting him to think she was giving in too easily. "Fine," she grumbled. "I'll do that. But if I don't find one there that I like, you're going to drop this, alright?"

Simon stuck out one hand and wiggled his fingers at her. "You have a deal," he said brightly.

Marceline slouched off the bench to shake the hand, not with-holding another eye-roll though. "Don't make me regret this, old man."

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**Question, what's it like to move? As someone who's lived in the same house my whole life, I don't understand. I imagine it'd be pretty tough right? Who has insight for me?**


	3. Chapter 3

**And then there was an actual cast that exists.**

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**Monday 27****th**** January 2014**

For a town so tiny, the school sure was loud. Kids were throwing streamers, and balls and books in some cases across heads. They jostled in the cramped halls, spilled out into the quad, screaming at each other, asking how holidays had been. Hey, heard you went away for a week, how was the coast? Did you see that movie, go to that concert? What about the party two weeks ago, how epic was that? Things Bonnie tuned out on.

Then the bell chimed and just like that the halls were deserted. Students slammed their lockers shut and vanished into rooms with practiced haste. Bonnie maintained distance from everyone else, content to go unseen.

The class was quiet, but then she was sure most students would rather not sit through history first thing on a Monday morning. Bonnibel had arrived early to class in the hopes she'd go mostly unnoticed. She really didn't want to be introduced to the class as 'that new girl' and she really didn't want everyone asking why she'd moved here. Things would be simpler if she just cruised under the high-school-social-hierarchy-of-doom radar this year. And next year.

To that end, she sat silently in the back corner by the window, studiously taking notes, answering questions and paying all the attention she could. Flying under the radar did not mean she wouldn't get good grades. It just meant she wouldn't be a recurring source of gossip. Bonnibel knew perfectly well how cruel and destructive gossip could be. No, she'd keep to herself.

And she managed to do that just fine until she found herself in the library for her third class; a spare, in which she was allowed to do whichever subject pleased her. Naturally, on the very first day of the semester, she didn't have too many subjects with work, so she meandered through the tiny library perusing the books. Somewhere between ancient Greek history and WWII texts, Bonnie bumped into a young man (not a student here no matter which way she squinted at him) and a female student having a particularly venomous whispering row.

He caught her with a startled expression on her face and glared. With a vicious prod into the girl's shoulder and a hushed string of words Bonnie was positive she didn't want to know, he stalked off. Now, the girl turned around, bristling, her incredible length of black hair unkempt and unruly resembling the tail of an angry cat. Her eyes were a piercing electric blue as they stabbed into Bonnie's soul, possibly attempting to flay her or something, maybe just noting her down for entry into the 'skip the queue' column of Hell's finest.

The girl continued to glower, before brushing roughly past Bonnibel and storming off. So much for going unnoticed.

"Wow," a breathy voice said behind her.

Bonnie turned (she'd been watching the dark-haired girl on her whirlwind path out of the library) and beheld a blonde girl not much older than herself, but at least an inch taller. Her shirt and ruffled skirt made her fondness for rainbows abundantly clear. Her hazel eyes were wide open, the kind of expression one wears to a magic show and has their breath stolen when they discover the assistant perfectly hale after being stabbed with swords.

"Wow, what?" Bonnie asked softly.

"She didn't kill you," the girl explained. "Marceline isn't known for her merciful nature." The girl now stuck out one hand, her wrist adorned with a bracelet sporting little decorations. Her nails coated in all different colours of paint. "I'm Penelope, by the way," she went on. "Penelope Philips. But everyone just calls me Pippa."

Tentatively, Bonnie took the hand in her own rather bland one. "Bonnibel Banner," she replied. "Is she usually trouble?" she asked, referring to the girl who'd glared at her.

Pippa shrugged. "Not usually no, she just has a bad attitude and a penchant for getting into trouble. She's a rebel and doesn't like being pressured. She did punch her ex-boyfriend in the parking lot once and she's been 'relocated' from two other schools. She keeps mostly to herself though."

Bonnie nodded, she'd known people like that; the kind who do things just to be different. It seemed silly to her, but what did she know really?

"Don't talk much do you?" Pippa asked, a smile tugging at her mouth. "That's ok, you're new. It gets better."

Surprised by that, Bonnie queried, "You're not from here?"

"Nope. My parents are European, but I was born in Korea, only moved here when I was ten," Pippa told her happily. "But it's good, really. My parents raise race horses and there's a lot of room out here. I get to help them, it's fun. And the locals are so friendly once you get to know them."

The bell buzzed through the library, announcing the start of lunch. Bonnie took that as her cue to leave and waved at Pippa. But the other girl wasn't having any of that. She grabbed Bonnibel's arm and dragged her off in a different direction.

"No, no. Jake told me he was going to introduce you to everyone," she chirped. "You're not escaping me."

Bonnie blinked. _Jake?_ Oh yes. "You know Jake?" she asked.

Pippa just laughed at her. "It's a small town. I know everyone." They didn't stop on their way through the cafeteria, merely skirted the throng and ducked out into the courtyard, ringed by walled gardens and sheltered from the sun by pale green shade cloth.

The school was uncommonly green, Bonnie noticed, peering around. Gardens were everywhere, floral murals adorned many walls, there was a lot of stone too. Sandstone, granite, marble, all kinds. She wasn't used to it, the whole place had a homier feel to it than the last school she'd attended, as if there was more freedom.

With a little fidgeting, Bonnibel extracted her arm from Pippa's grip, content to follow, less so about being manhandled. Pippa halted at a wooden table in one corner, right beside a pond in which swam a trio of large golden fish. Bonnie wasn't brushed up on her fish breeds though and aside from colouration and a vague resemblance to koi, she had no idea what they were.

Seated at the table were three people, the first of which Bonnie recognised as Jake with his tawny hair and axe handle for shoulders. Beside him was a smaller blonde boy, but with his same broad shoulders and square jaw, although lithe, more of a runner or a swimmer to Jake's wrestler. They were sprawled across the table, heads together with a girl dressed all in purple. It clashed a little with her sandy hair, that didn't seem to bother her though.

When Pippa collapsed down beside the girl, pulling Bonnie after her, they all ceased talking and turned eyes on them – a dark brown in the case of the girl and blue-grey for both of the boys. Jake smiled when he saw her, the blonde boy looked confused and the girl bit her bottom lip. All of them seemed a tad anxious.

"Hey everyone," Pippa enthused. "This is Bonnibel Banner, that new girl Ellen has been prattling on about." Slowly, Bonnie waved at them, smiling wanly. "That's Jake, you know him, his cousin Finn and this is Eleanor Scott-Parker."

The purple girl smiled now, friendlier, but wariness still creeping behind her eyes. "Pleasure. Just Ellen is fine, by the way."

"Hi," Finn said brightly, red climbing his throat and staining his cheeks. "How are you liking it here?"

Jake beamed at his cousin. "Chill, bro. She's only been here a week." His eyes sparkled as they watched Bonnie though. Clearly they all expected an answer, no matter what Jake said.

"It's different," she said slowly. "I've never lived in a small town before."

"No?" Ellen put in. "Where'd you come from?"

"Ormeau."

Pippa blinked. "That's ages away."

Bonnie just nodded. The conversation faltered and she supposed it was her fault. Hoping not to alienate herself from these people, she added, "I've no doubt I'll get used to everyone knowing everyone else though. Might be a nice change." She shrugged, trying to smile, but it wasn't in her.

After that, they were content to chat about their holidays, leaving Bonnie to listen in silence. This was perfectly fine in her book. She picked up a few names too, as she listened, hoping to put faces to them as well. Some were mentioned with shudders of distaste, such as that Tiffany girl Pippa brought up. She got grimaces all round. Then there were the amused chuckles, the fond smiles, and once the hushed murmurs of people hoping not to be caught in speculation.

Pippa brought up Bonnie's encounter with Marceline and that other fellow in the library (his name, she discovered, was Ash, a senior from the year before who had moved to Blackwater after graduating and Marceline's ex-boyfriend). They were quick to give warnings against spending too much time with her. Apparently she was a bad influence, having been kicked out of a neighbouring school for some indeterminate (but probably violent) reason. Bonnie was more than happy to heed that advice. There would be no rebellious incidents or accidental injuries if she could help it. No thanks.

Finn walked her to her literature class when the bell rang an hour later. It was a long lunch break to her mind, but they only had one here in Reich, whereas at her old school there had been two shorter ones. Finn was still an odd pink colour and she suggested he go see the nurse about it just in case he was having a heat stroke or something. He just mumbled an answer she didn't quite catch and hurried off.

Once again, Bonnie sat in the back corner, trying not to be noticed. As before, it didn't really work the way she planned. A girl flopped into the chair beside her grinning broadly. This girl, Bonnie didn't know, but she had a wild array of dark brown curls pulled back from her face in a rough pony tail.

"Hiya!" the girl said. "I'm Keila. Lovely to meet you." She thrust a hand across the table, wrist covered in woven bangles, a silver ring on her index finger. "You're the talk of the school, you know that?"

Gently, Bonnie took her hand. It was only polite. "I'm Bonnibel. And yes, I was aware."

Keila tilted her head. "Kinda quiet aren't you? That's okay; we'll beat it out of you." At Bonnie's now very wide eyes, Keila laughed. "Oh don't worry, I'm just kidding. There will be no beatings. Not unless you tick off old Halterbutt of course." She rolled her eyes. "He's a jerk. Don't mind him."

That… was a most unusual way to refer to someone. She frowned. "Uh… Halterbutt?" Bonnie asked curiously. What a strange nickname.

"Yeah, Leonard Halte, the principal here," Keila explained, twirling a pencil between her fingers. "He's a big old, baldy-headed jerk. A fun-sponge, a… a… lemon-faced, cucumber-chewing, fuddy-duddy of buttmunchery and doom." Keila leered at her notebook.

Smiling now, Bonnie wondered, "You don't like him much, I take it?"

"Oh… not at all. I swear, if he were to walk through the airport metal detector arch thing, it'd go off, because he has a massive steel rod jammed firmly up his arse." Keila utilised her pencil in describing that, much to Bonnie's amusement. "The dude never smiles. Just glares at people. We haven't had a sanctioned school function in nearly four years because of him. I swear to God, we will be the cohort to end his reign of terror." Keila slammed her hand on the table for emphasis, drawing the teacher's gaze.

He cleared his throat. "Keila, if you would, pay attention."

She grinned at him, giving a mock salute when he turned his back and sticking her tongue out. "Because literature is _such_ an important subject."

Bonnie smiled at her, turning her gaze back to her book. "You don't like literature?" she asked softly as the teacher began to chatter about eighteenth century playwrights.

Keila shrugged. "It's not my favourite. I don't like analysing things. I want to know what the writer actually meant too much and the teacher always gets mad because apparently it's important to 'formulate my own opinions'." She sighed.

"Don't you have opinions?" Bonnie chuckled.

The look Keila flashed at her might have been made of pure venom. "Of course I have my own opinions. It just so happens, however, that my opinion on why both Romeo and Juliet died is that dear old Shakespeare was a huge troll who laughed at the end when the audience got all angsty about it. Which, funnily enough, isn't valid." Daggers flew from her eyes as she scowled at the teacher.

Bonnie just kept smiling at her notebook.

* * *

"You know, the funny thing is I don't care."

Keila pouted, her brown eyes going very big, pleading. It was her puppy-dog face and only a special few people could resist it. Happily, Marceline was just such a person.

"No," she huffed again, folding her arms stubbornly.

"Come _on_, Marce," Keila pleaded, grabbing her arm and shaking. "Just give it a chance. You might change your mind."

"Or I might decide that the pastel princess really is a pretentious, pompous and prissy poser."

"That's a lot of 'p' words," Keila grumbled. Marceline exhaled heavily and stormed off towards home. Not that she really wanted to go home, but it _was_ home, regardless of how much she might loathe it. Keila trailed behind her. "Please? Just once."

"I don't want to play nice with the new girl, Keila," she said firmly. "End of story. I'm going to have zero to do with her for the next two years. At which point, she'll waltz right on back out of our small town without a backwards glance."

"You don't know that. Why don't you at least just say 'hi'? I know you're not a popsicle, but you might at least pretend like it's the truth now and then."

"Yeah sure, then what?" Marceline spun on her best friend. "I don't want to talk to her, alright? Just leave off."

Keila frowned at her, clearly taken aback by her foul mood. "Geez, fine then. Must be that time of the month. Go have a nap or something." With that, Keila trotted off in the other direction, obviously deciding she didn't want to deal with Marceline.

This was fine by her. A little solitude wasn't such a bad thing. She shoved her hands in her pockets and grumbled nonsensically to herself. At the last, she changed her mind, deciding against heading home just yet. Instead she wound through town and up the hill just past the fruit market.

Collapsing underneath the tree at its crest, she watched the sun go down over the lake. It was a nice calm place here. Not many people stopped by to irritate her and her father never thought to check. Peaceful silence.

Marceline closed her eyes, ruminating over the new girl and the harsh words she'd exchanged with Keila. _Those were some nice 'p's she used_, the thought meandered lethargically through her brain and she sighed again. So the princess in pink was from out of town and walked like she resented being here in their tiny town. Not much of a first impression, if Marceline was asked. Which – of course – she never was.

Still, she supposed it wasn't fair for her to get all snippy with her best friend over the pretty petal. She pulled out her phone, tapping it on her palm, thinking. Eventually, she sent a message to Keila, trying to convey as much of an apologetically humble tone as she could through text.

Then she smacked her head against the tree and closed her eyes. She didn't really want to make friends with the new girl. She didn't, it was pointless. They'd become friends, then she'd leave and maybe they'd stay in contact for a while, but eventually they'd fall out of touch and forget. Better not to put herself in that position from the start.

Her phone pinged, vibrating against her hip.

_S'alright_, Keila sent back. _I can't stay mad at you. Just give her a chance ok?_

Once again, Marceline sighed. She didn't _want_ to give her a chance. It was best to just ignore her. The princess would have plenty of other people to pester. Friends she'd dig up in spades, Marceline didn't need to throw herself in that hole just to be noticed. No, she didn't. She _wouldn't_. Pastel pink could take care of herself and Marceline would stay out of it.

She made a mental note to continue to ignore Keila's advice.

* * *

**Many thanks to everyone who answered about moving house. Hopefully I'll be able to make sense then. ^^ I'd suck at it so much. I hate socialising. :I**

**I went to an all girls' school and I've been told it was really small. Like, we only had maybe 125 kids in our grade (and that's being pretty generous). Are classes really big?**


	4. Chapter 4

**First words. Also hugs for everyone who has been keeping up with this.**

* * *

**Thursday 13****th**** February 2014**

It… ruined her Thursday. No… perhaps she was being melodramatic. It _didn't_ ruin her Thursday. But the way the girl glared at her certainly made her feel… inadequate.

Actually, Bonnie wasn't sure that was the right word either. She mulled that over for a moment, trying to force aside the realisation that her safe haven in the back corner of the chemistry classroom was being unceremoniously violated. She continued to mull even as the glaring violator in question sank balefully into the spot beside her.

_Unworthy?_ The words danced through her mind, trying to put a label on the way she was feeling under that electric stare. _Lowly? Pathetic? Fraudulent? Incompetent? Filthy?_ Yes, that last one. She settled with filthy. The girl made her feel all of those things, but the way she was scowling made Bonnie wonder whether she'd actually had a shower recently.

Doctor Welsh, their chemistry teacher, scuttled over in a manner reminiscent of rodents. "Sorry to do this to you, Bonnibel," he said in soft, clipped tones. "Marceline was transferred and she needs a partner. I know you're perfectly capable on your own, but rules are rules."

Bonnie sighed, shooting her new lab partner a quick glance and… yup, still glaring. "That's fine, really," she exhaled heavily. Welsh smiled at her before scurrying back to his desk.

"I don't like you."

The words came from nowhere and Bonnie spared the agitated girl a surprised look. "Great."

Marceline blinked. "No really. I don't want to be your friend, princess. And I don't want your charity."

She snorted. "What charity?"

The other girl bristled. "Well, clearly Welsh put me with you because he thinks I suck at science right? I don't like you."

Bonnie had the strangest feeling that the reasons behind Marceline's dislike were something completely unrelated to school. She didn't say that though. Instead, the words that fell out of her mouth were, "Sure, yeah. Because what you do with an unintelligent student is pair them with one of the brightest ones. That wouldn't result in coat-tail riding at all would it? No I don't think so." Bonnie chuckled. "He probably paired us together because he's sure you'll do your work." She looked away as she said that last.

The insufferable idiot didn't want charity? Fine. Bonnie wouldn't give her so much as a kind word. She could be cold and distant if that's how it had to be.

"And I don't like you either," Bonnie added. It got a strange expression to flash across Marceline's face, as if she hadn't anticipated that reaction. "So just do your work and we can pretend to get along in class."

Marceline blinked again, the fingers of one hand drumming across the table. Then she smiled thinly. "Awesome. I like that plan."

And for the most part, they were civil to each other in class. Well… if she ignored the blatant glares Marceline was constantly firing at her. If she disregarded the clipped tones, the frosty undercurrents and the way she kept at least a metre of space between them at all times… then yes, Bonnie could pretend they were being civil. What it was really like, was that Bonnie had a supremely contagious air-borne disease and Marceline had to keep her distance lest she become infected.

Chemistry was an absurdly long hour that day.

When the bell rang, Marceline scooped her books into her bags, glared once more at Bonnie, and dashed out the door without another word. Bonnibel decided then and there that it was going to be an equally long semester. After the mid-year break, she'd request another partner, a less hostile one.

-*…*…*-

"So how was your day?" Pippa pressed on their walk home. Penelope's family lived past Peter, further outside of town, but within walking distance (even if another mode of transport might be more comfortable in this ungodly heat). They often made the trek together. Pippa often made a point of getting Bonnie to talk.

Bonnie sighed. "It was long, Pippa. What about yours?"

"Can't complain," her friend replied with a shrug. "You know, you've been here for a while now, you should open up a little. No one will hate you for having input in conversations you do realise."

Turning her gaze to the school fence as they walked, Bonnie ignored the silent question. Part of her really did want to just… give in to these people. The other part of her knew that would be bad. So she kept her mouth shut.

"I do contribute to conversations," she said carefully, hoping that didn't venture too far into uncomfortable territory.

"Not a lot," Pippa huffed. "Listen, we're going out to the ditch after lunch on Saturday. You should come with. Jake and I will pick you up. It'll be fun."

"Pass."

"Bonnibel," Pippa pleaded, grabbing her elbow. "Come on. Please? For me? Just try to relax for me." She smiled, trying to instil in Bonnie a desire to do this, and she tried to do it using just her eyes. "Pretty please?"

"I don't want to make a regular habit of skipping study time," Bonnie muttered.

"Oh pthh," Pippa said, sticking her tongue out. "It won't hurt your academic brilliance to take a weekend off now and then. It's not like I'm suggesting anything silly. Just come hang out with us."

It was a bad idea. Terrible, in fact. She should decline. She should sit in her little flat with the air conditioner humming pleasantly in the background and work on her history paper. That's what sensible Bonnibel would've done back in Ormeau. New Bonnibel didn't think like that. No. New Bonnibel wanted to make friends here, wanted to start again, to forget. Guilt snagged at her stomach at the thought of starting again… of moving on. It didn't seem fair.

She shouldn't go.

But she felt herself nodding anyway. Pippa squealed with delight, hugged her tightly.

"Oh good, you won't regret it," Penelope assured her. "I promise you'll have a blast." She winked. "We know how to have fun out here in the country."

That didn't bode well.

* * *

**Wow, yeah, okay we had small classes. Heck. YuzuYuri19, you will have to wait a little while (read: probably a long while actually) for that bit up in the summary. Those are song lyrics, by the way. **


	5. Chapter 5

**Apologies for my absence. It's a funny story actually... but eh. c:**

* * *

**Saturday 15th February 2014**

Her history paper called her. It begged her to stay and finish it. Of course, she still had nearly four weeks to complete the assignment before it was due. Yet Bonnie had always been prompt with her work.

Between the paper sitting on her little desk and the clock ticking towards three-thirty on her bedside table, her eyes couldn't stay still. It was a tough decision. That thought made her chuckle though. Not one of her new acquaintances would find it a hard choice. None of her _past_ acquaintances would either.

Banging on her front door made her jump.

For a moment, Bonnibel considered ignoring it, but then Pippa knew she was home and that would serve no purpose at all. She sighed when she realised that and headed for the door. Still, she paused again before pulling it open. It didn't matter what she told herself, there was that lingering conflict inside, that one little voice telling her not to go with.

"Hey, Bonnibel!" Jake said, grinning. "Ready to go?"

She looked around for Pippa, but it seemed her friend had elected to stay in the car with the air conditioning. Although it wasn't really all that hot today. Still, it was pretty bright out.

Bonnibel nodded. "Just let me get a hat." He bounced on the balls of his feet impatiently while she dashed back inside to snatch a broad hat from her room. It hadn't taken her long to decide that headwear was very important out here. With her fair skin and the sun trying to kill everyone through angry glaring, sunburn was as simple as crossing the road.

She slapped the hat down on her red curls and raced through the evil sunlight to Jake's car. He followed her, frowning a little bit now, as if unsure whether she was mad or something. Bonnie slid up into the back seat, smiling at Pippa as she did so, Jake clambering up into his four wheel drive a few seconds later, shooting her a curious glance.

"You alright, Bonnibel?" he asked.

"Yeah," she replied softly. "It's just really bright today. I don't want to get sunburned."

He laughed and Pippa smiled with him, tossing a tube of cream to her. "That's the good stuff," Pippa told her. "If you get burned wearing that, then you don't stand a chance."

Bonnie squirted the pale cream onto her fingers; it was nice and thick, good for keeping the sun off. "So what is the ditch anyway?" Bonnibel asked them. She hadn't had the presence of mind to ask before and it was a little worrying.

Jake glanced at her in the rear view mirror, smirking. "You'll just have to wait and see, won't you," he chuckled. "It's awesome though. You'll love it."

"Just be sure to stand in the shade," Pippa added.

The ditch was outside of town, hence the car; otherwise they would've just walked. It wasn't far outside, but far enough that Bonnie was incredibly thankful for the car. Walking through the sun would've been torture.

After a while, the radio blathering about a storm that Bonnie couldn't see, they hit a cattle grate, the suspension beneath them jouncing up and down, clacking her teeth together. Dust flew up and out away from the car when the last of the grate disappeared behind them, rocks now making for a bumpy drive.

"That's the town limit," Pippa explained. "You probably drove over it on your way in, yeah? It's so the cows can't run off."

Jake lifted a finger and pointed through the windscreen over the steering wheel. The sun was just nipping at the horizon in front of them, making things blurry orange and kind of hard to distinguish. Then the car dipped suddenly down an incline. Jake didn't slow and the nose-first plunge at speed was almost enough for Bonnie to lose her lunch.

Back tyres skidded through the dirt, scrabbling for traction that wasn't quite there, gravel shot out behind them before the rubber found something to cling to and they bounced back to a regular drive pattern. Here, at the bottom of the hill, the ground was even bumpier than at the top, and Bonnie held onto her seat with white-knuckled fists.

Pippa peered over her shoulder at Bonnie and grinned at the look on her face. "Sorry, Bonnibel. It's always a little rough the first time."

"It's fine," she replied softly. It really wasn't. This could hardly be safe. She looked over her shoulder and blanched. The more pressing question was how the _hell_ they were getting back up that. "I just wasn't ready for that drop. Hey, can you even get back up?"

Jake laughed. "Of course we can get back up. There's another way up there, it's shallower."

"Why didn't we come down that way then?" Bonnie asked, voice a little shrill.

"It's further away," Pippa told her, indicating a patch of tamped dirt not far away for Jake to park. "We do it like a loop, come in one way and go out the other. It prevents congestion."

Bonnie nodded; that made sense. A little warning about that drop might've been nice though. Jake pulled up next to a silver tray-back with purple stripes. Finn was sitting in the back, fiddling with something metallic. He looked up and smiled as they got out. Bonnie coughed at the dirt, still settling after being disturbed by the truck.

"Hey guys," he enthused, leaping from the tray.

Bonnie wasn't paying him much mind though; she was busy staring at this big empty space in front of her. Turns out it wasn't called the ditch for nothing. On three sides it was surrounded by steep embankments and on the fourth was a not-quite-so-steep embankment. She had no idea why it was here, or why it looked like a sort of lopsided trapezius. What seemed at first glance to be a race track ran in a stretched oval through the middle and a small shed, rusted and neglected was pressed up against one wall of the ditch. A trio of trestle tables had been placed beside it and most of the cars formed a wobbly circle with their rear ends towards it.

"Wow, alright then," Bonnie muttered. She turned on the spot, getting a good look at everything. "What is this supposed to be?"

"It was supposed to become a mall," Ellen replied, sidling up beside her. "Never happened. No funding. Also everyone was up in arms about how it would kill small town industry or something. I wouldn't have minded a mall. Would've saved us the hour's drive out to Blackwater whenever we wanted to go shopping."

Bonnie peered at the shed and its accompanying tables, realising that a good number of students from the school were there. Some from the grade below them, some who had graduated already, it must be a tight-knit community for that. Different age groups rarely intermingled in Ormeau.

Finn's conversation with Jake crashed back into the front of her mind then, interrupting her thoughts and curious wonderments regarding the contents of the shed. "Oh, please, Jake. I can totally do it this time. I've been practicing."

"I don't want you crashing dad's spare tractor again," Jake replied. "He still hasn't forgiven me you know."

Finn was shaking his head adamantly. "I won't crash it again. Just… Please?"

Jake scrunched up his nose, frowning at his cousin. Pippa just smiled at them, but Jake's gaze flitted to her and his shoulders slumped. "Oh, fine then. But if you crash it this time, you're telling dad."

That stipulation didn't seem to faze Finn as he bounced off towards the shed. "What are they talking about?" Bonnie asked Ellen.

Eleanor lifted an eyebrow and gestured over her shoulder at the packed ground behind them, the area that looked like a track. "Tractor races. They're one of the very few entertaining things to do here."

The shed door scrolled up and the machines inside roared to life. Well that explained it then. Her suspicions from earlier were proved right as her heart sank down to her toes. This did _not_ bode well.

* * *

Marceline regretted coming with Keila, she'd forgotten how boring these things were. The sun clipped the horizon, dipping below the rim of the ditch and Marceline was secretly grateful that nightfall was upon them. She could leave soon.

The tractors were still rumbling around the oblong track; that little blonde boy had been given reins today and watching him was amusing. But the noise was irritating, giving her a headache. The music blaring from the back of Ellen's truck didn't help matters there. She sighed, slouching off to the trestle tables to find a drink. Keila was bouncing around by a punch bowl, but Marceline had been suspicious of such drink dispensers since everyone threw up at the last ditch party. While Marceline had no proof, she was positive Keila had been behind that incident.

She was about to ask Keila a question, but a hand on her shoulder stopped her cold.

"Hey, babe," said a low voice near her ear. "Miss me?" Alcohol fumes washed over her and she scrunched her nose up.

Marceline relaxed, realising it was just Ash. Albeit an almost drunk Ash. She shrugged his hand away and turned to glare at him. "I thought I broke up with you. Why aren't you in Blackwater?" she asked him flatly.

He smiled, exposing a row of crooked teeth. "Because I missed you, babe. And I know you missed me, so I thought I'd give you a second chance." Being drunk did not excuse his behaviour, she decided.

"Please don't call me that," she sighed. "And I will totally not give you any more chances, jerk."

Ash ran one hand across her shoulder and down her arm before wrapping his fingers around her wrist. "Why don't you come with me and we can discuss that elsewhere." He leaned down to kiss her but she pulled back, wresting her hand from his grip, putting some distance between them.

Then she shoved him away. "No. I'm going home. I just need to see Keila."

"You really aren't as loose as everyone thinks you are, huh?" he growled, snatching for her wrist again. "You're all talk. Give it your all then, _babe_."

She ripped her hand free again and jabbed a finger at his face. "I'm still pretty sure I told you to leave me alone. So why don't you do that." With that, she stalked off.

"Wassup, eh?" Keila asked her, the words slurred slightly.

"You're drunk," Marceline observed with a faint smile.

"Am not," Keila argued, scooping another ladle of the orange-pink punch into her cup. "I'm _tipsy_," she corrected. "Tipsy, but just short of seeing pink elephants."

Marceline chuckled and relieved her friend of the plastic cup, tipping its contents into the dirt. "I think you're done for the evening."

"You," Keila told her bluntly, "are a spoil sport."

Marceline just rolled her eyes.

"Hey, Keila," said a soft voice. They both turned. Marceline frowned at the little redheaded girl who'd snuck up behind her friend. "Oh… hi…" she faltered, noticing Marceline. Her eyes were insanely green, mesmerising and off-putting. "Sorry. I was just wondering if there are bathrooms out here." The girl turned her eyes back on Keila.

"Mmn," Keila mused, rolling her lips under. "No. There's not. We just use the latrine out behind the shed. Gotta be careful though, some guys camp out there and wait." She smiled broadly at that.

The look on the girl's face was hilarious. Marceline almost burst into a fit of cackles at how offended she seemed by that notion. Actually, Marceline could feel a smile tugging at her lips and there wasn't anything she could do to stop it. Not even a flickering thought of Ash and how angry he'd made her earlier could erase the grin.

"Eh, Marceline," Keila said softly, squinting at the punch bowl. "Din't you say you're goin' home now? Maybe you could take Bonnibel home with you."

Marceline blinked. "Um… no. To all of that."

Bonnie looked over her shoulder and despite herself, Marceline's gaze followed. The tractors had stopped, she realised, only just noticing that the grumbling noise was gone. The sun was completely set now and no one would risk their tractors in the dark. The redhead pursed her lips, peering into the dusty dark, lit now only by headlights.

"It's alright, Keila," Bonnie said, turning back around. "I can go home with Ellen." From the way she said that, Marceline gathered that was the very last thing Bonnie wanted to do. "I think she's leaving now anyway."

Keila snorted, snatching another cup off the table. Marceline was quick to remove that from her grasp too. "Not likely. Ellen is always the last one to leave," Keila mumbled. She turned her gaze on Marceline and frowned as hard as she could when she was this inebriated. "Marceline, take the girl home."

"No."

"Why not?"

"I don't like her."

Keila's eyes shot wide open. "Dude!" she gasped, shuffling a step closer and waving at Bonnie. "She's right there."

"That's alright too, Keila," Bonnie interjected before Marceline could say something sarcastic. "I know she doesn't like me. That's fine."

Keila prodded Marceline in the side. "You told her you don't like her? That was dumb. Drive her home. Be a gentleman."

Marceline huffed, folding her arms. "I'm not a guy so that doesn't count."

"Keila," Bonnie said, passing her a cup. "It's alright. I'll walk."

Before Marceline could grab that cup too, Keila twisted away and downed the whole lot. "You most certainly won't walk home in the dark, because Marceline will take you. Ain't that right?"

Caught between a rock and Keila, that sucked. Marceline sighed. "Fine, I'll take her home. I'm still not going to be friends though." She said that last for Bonnie's benefit, but to her credit, the ginger didn't seem to care.

"I'll just let my friends know I'm going," Bonnie told her, heading off to where Pippa was sitting. The blonde was swinging her legs under the tail-gate of Jake's truck.

"Hang on, I'm coming with," Marceline said, casting a quick glance at Keila before following. "You saw how close to done she was right?" Marceline asked Bonnie quietly. "Why did you give her another drink?"

"It was coffee," Bonnie replied just as softly. "A bit of a wake-up call. She'll be fine."

She lagged back a few steps at that. It was almost like Bonnie actually _cared_, but… but… No that couldn't be right. No one was nice to Marceline or her best friend. Must have been… accidental. Yeah, that'd be it. She hastened to catch up to the other girl then, trying to displace whatever those thoughts were because she didn't like the look of where they were going.

"Marceline's taking me home," Bonnie was telling her friend. "I have to pee and there is no way I'm using a latrine."

Pippa squinted suspiciously at Marceline. "You take care of her, alright? I don't want her hurt on your death-trap."

Marceline waved aside her concerns. "Just this one time, I'll pretend she's glass, 'kay? Keep an eye on Keila for me. I know you're not my biggest fan, but don't let her get too drunk and pass out. Please."

Pippa kept eyeing her but nodded anyway. "Fine. Just this one time."

Marceline scowled, but headed off towards her ride, Bonnie trailing behind her. "Are you sure you couldn't find someone else to take you home?" she asked quietly.

"Not someone I'd trust to drive me, no," Bonnie said. "Keila was my last resort, but everyone's pretty wasted."

Marceline nearly skipped a step at the words. Not someone she'd trust? But she was letting Marceline drive her home? What did that mean? That she was trustworthy? She shook her head to dispel the stupid thoughts.

_Last resort_, she reminded herself. _And you didn't even make the list. She's probably only okay with it because she's friends with Keila. That's weird, but whatever._

"I'm Bonnibel, by the way," she said, stepping up beside her. "I know you probably don't care, but I figure you should at least know my name and I don't think we exchanged names in class."

What was wrong with this girl? "We didn't. Marceline Abadeer. And I know who you are, Banner. Everyone's been talking about you since you got here. Not many new folks turn up around here."

Marceline threw her leg over her bike and pulled the helmet off the handle. "This is…" Bonnie began slowly, stopping beside her but making no move to get on. "This is a motorbike."

"You expected a car, didn't you?" Marceline chuckled. "Sorry to disappoint."

"No… I just…" She was fiddling with her hat, eyeing the machine apprehensively. "I've never been on a bike before. Is it safe?"

Marceline shrugged. "Safe is relative, I guess. Here." She tossed the helmet at the short nerd (Marceline was really going to have to stop calling her 'short'; Bonnie was probably two inches taller). "For your protection. Now get on or stay here, I don't care which."

With a curious glance at the black helmet, Bonnie slid it onto her head and tightened the straps, making double sure it was secure. Once again, Marceline nearly smiled before she caught herself. This was not alright. She was not allowed to smile at this girl. Nope. She wouldn't like her. Nope, definitely not.

Then Bonnie slid a leg over the bike and perched there, very out of her depth. Marceline twisted around to get a look at her and noticed that she was holding onto the seat, her knees squeezed as tight as they would go against the sides of the bike. And again, Marceline felt a smile forming. She fought it down, but some of it oozed through anyway and curled up one corner of her mouth.

"You're gonna fall off," Marceline told her.

"I don't want to intrude on your personal space," Bonnie replied and Marceline was stunned to hear sarcasm in there. "Or make you feel uncomfortable. Since you don't like me and we're not friends and all that."

Marceline blinked at her. "Sitting like that, you're going to fall off. Never you mind my feelings. No one else does." Then she gunned it, the engine snarling to life, the bike leaping beneath her, straining to race away.

As the bike skidded, rocks flying out from the back tyre as it gained grip, Bonnie threw her arms around Marceline's middle. The bike groaned and rolled off, Marceline keeping the pace relatively slow on the loose ground, but that didn't stop Bonnibel from tightening her hold and pressing her face against Marceline's shoulder. It was funny; she'd never had someone on the back of her bike with her before. It felt… weird. She shifted awkwardly, not used to the sensation of the hands on her stomach, of someone so close to her.

"Where do you live?" Marceline asked her passenger, voice loud in her ears over the roar of the engine.

"With my uncle," came the reply in her ear. "Don't you know where he lives?"

"Never had any reason to visit before."

"I'll tell you when to turn."

"Are you even watching where we're going?" Marceline found herself asking in a teasing tone.

"Yes, actually, thanks for the vote of confidence there." Her tone was dry again. Marceline hadn't thought the princess knew how to be witty.

As promised, Bonnie whispered 'lefts' and 'rights' as they drove until Marceline pulled up outside Peter Minton's shambling house. Even though Bonnie had protested, Marceline had gone all the way up the drive to stop outside the house, rather than just letting her get off at the road. There were no lights on in the house, but Bonnie pulled her phone out to bathe the area in white.

Clumsily (earning another smile from Marceline who was beginning to think she might be sick), Bonnie basically fell off the bike. She adjusted her skirt before unbuckling the helmet. Surprisingly, she then smooshed it down on Marceline's head.

"Thanks for the lift," Bonnie said quietly. "I'll pay you back somehow. Drive safe."

Marceline blinked at her for a long moment, mouth open like an idiot. Nobody ever told her to drive safe. She shook her head again and smirked.

"We're not friends, princess," she said tartly. "You don't owe me anything."

"How about I just don't publically acknowledge your existence then?" Bonnie asked her in that strangely soft cynical way she had.

"That'll do. Ciao."

Her drive home was filled with inconsistencies and curious thoughts. They were most positively _not_ friends. They weren't. They couldn't be because Marceline didn't like her. So why, when Marceline got off her bike musing over the odd redhead, was she still smiling?


	6. Chapter 6

**Tuesday 18th February 2014**

"So how are you this fine morning?"

Keila just groaned, screwing her eyes shut and pressing her face into the desk. Her arms were wrapped around her head in a vain attempt to keep the sunlight and sound from getting to her. Bonnie smiled and tapped her on the shoulder, sinking into the seat beside her.

"Come on, Keila, wake up."

Another protracted groan was all she got. Keila hunched her shoulders, trying to get Bonnie to stop poking her. "Ugh, go away."

"It's Tuesday."

"It's sleep day," Keila corrected.

"How are you feeling?"

"Like I was hit in the head with a tractor."

Bonnie nodded, that seemed pretty apt. Keila hadn't turned up to school on Monday, professing through email that she was sick with something. It might have been true, but Bonnie was secretly convinced it had less to do with a lazy immune system and more to do with the incredible amount of punch she'd consumed Saturday evening. Ellen had informed her that Keila was notorious for spiking the punch with hard liquor, but after the first few times, Keila was the only one to drink too much of it.

Also from Ellen, Bonnie had heard that Keila had spent most of Sunday in a comatose state. Sure, she hadn't turned up to church in the morning, but Bonnie hadn't thought anything of it. Although given her state on Saturday evening, a severe hangover was easy to blame for her less than chipper attitude presently.

"Well you shouldn't have had so much to drink," Bonnie told her gently, still prodding her in the back. "Sit up. You'll be alright later."

Keila opened one eye and glared half-heartedly at her. "You sound like Marceline," Keila mumbled nearly incoherently. She did sit up though and then slouched down in her seat, eyes lidded as though the mild light trickling through the window was too much for her. At least she wasn't still bloodshot.

"What did you even put in the punch," Bonnie asked her, chuckling softly.

Balefully, and with no small amount of resentment, Keila eyed her. "I didn't put anything in the punch, thank you. Who said I did?"

Bonnie shrugged, saying only, "Ellen."

"And you believed her?"

"She said you've done it before."

"Yeah," Keila huffed. "So? I added a little bit of beer to the punch once two years ago and I can't live it down." She sighed. "I promise it wasn't me. It was probably Ash. He's just stupid enough to do it. And he's an arsehole."

Bonnie blinked at that, thinking, _Ash… that name is familiar…_ "Who's Ash?" she wondered aloud.

Keila's face crumpled. "Ugh," she grumbled. "He's… he's a first class douche is what he is. The biggest, most obnoxious and self-centred _prick_ I've ever met." She fiddled with her pen then, clearly trying to decide on the next thing to say. She sighed, "He's also Marceline's ex-boyfriend."

_Oh_, she thought. For a long moment, Bonnie had no idea how to respond to that. Then, "Are you… um… _allowed_ to call him an idiot like that?"

"What?" Keila asked, snorting. "It didn't end amicably, I'll call him what I like. She calls him all sorts of nasty names. I still think she was a right tosser for ever dating that guy, best friend or not. And she could do so much better. But she won't, because she thinks so little of herself. The girl's all wrong in the head. I keep my opinion to myself when she's around though." Keila fixed her with a penetrating stare then. "I would advise you do the same."

"Yeah, uh… alright," Bonnie muttered, wondering about the dynamic there. "I won't tell her." _But maybe she needs to know_, a little voice in her head argued. _Maybe she needs to know she's worth more than she thinks._ And maybe she did, but Bonnie sure wouldn't tell her. They weren't friends after all. It wasn't her place.

As had become her habit, Bonnie remained quiet through literature, only speaking to help Keila (or wake her up near the end there). When that class finished, she sat by herself in one corner of the library for her spare, polishing off her history assignment. She'd completed it on Sunday afternoon, but had then decided a reread and editing was probably in order.

Marceline whirled through the doors not long into the hour class (stopping only briefly to exchange a few words with the librarian), spared Bonnie little more than a flashing glare and disappeared into the aisles. That wasn't unusual. They had their spares together as well as chemistry and maths, but outside of what limited contact they had in the shared classes, they had a mutual avoidance policy. This did not bother Bonnie in the slightest, despite Keila's assurances that Marceline was secretly a nice person, she'd heard enough gossip and rumour in her first few weeks to make her positive that Marceline was a pricklebush worth avoiding. And she had a seriously irritating misogynist ex-boyfriend which only reinforced Bonnie's opinion of her (she redeemed a few points for dumping him though).

She made bad choices. Bonnie was okay with not being her friend. Very okay with that in fact.

Noticing how close it was to lunch, Bonnie gathered her things and headed over to check out a book for her biology assignment. Ms Cooter was an agreeable sort, the elderly woman shuffling around with her cane, making sure her books weren't vandalised and the volume never exceeded what she deemed to be acceptable. It was generally quiet in the library, rarely packed with students and, much to Bonnie's delight, open on the weekends.

Ms Cooter smiled at her as she stopped at the desk. Apparently Bonnibel was one of the very few people to actually care about the books and she was more than happy to have a chat with the old woman.

That afternoon (and after a good long moment of internal debate), Bonnie muttered, "Marceline." She paused, chewing on her words so they didn't come out wrong. "Does she always stop to talk?"

"Why yes," Cooter said happily. "She comes by after school too and sometimes on the weekend. Always pops in on her way to the music store to say 'hello'. Lovely young lady."

Bonnibel frowned. That was interesting and flew in the face of everything else she'd been told. But it did support Keila's assertions that Marceline wasn't such a bad person. Perhaps it was best to reserve judgement, after all – and she knew from experience – high schoolers could be unnaturally cruel and quick to label. Bonnibel thanked her and headed off to lunch.

"How was Keila?" Ellen asked at lunch, sliding down onto the bench beside Pippa. She smirked as if she already knew the answer.

"Pretty rubbish, actually," Bonnie replied. "She looked like a vampire. Sunlight is not her best friend currently."

"I'll bet," said Jake, grinning around a mouthful of food. "Did she tell you what she put in the punch?"

Bonnie shrugged, stating simply that, "Keila maintains it wasn't her."

Ellen snorted, "Uh-huh, sure. Who'd she lay the blame on then?"

"Ash."

For a good long moment, no one spoke. Then Ellen shrugged. "Eh," she said. "I can believe that."

Bonnie rolled her eyes. Then conversation drifted off on a tangent, finding other things to discuss. Things that were mostly silly; how classes were, who'd done stupid things so far, weekend plans. Things like that. At one point, Marceline was brought up; apparently Jake had chemistry with her until she threw a punch in class and got a transfer. That was news to Bonnie, but made so much sense; explaining the girl's sudden presence in her class.

After that the rest of the day dragged on in the same way as it usually did. Maths class with Finn (and Marceline, who sat as far from Bonnie as she could manage), in which she spent a good deal of her time translating the teacher's confusing waffle into terms that made more sense to the blonde boy. Then came history with Pippa which was always a pleasure because her bubbly friend frequently had cynical takes on what _actually_ happened to Cleopatra. Finally biology with a still somewhat comatose-on-her-feet Keila, which wasn't very entertaining really.

She was jabbing her friend in the shoulder for what felt like the millionth time in half an hour, trying to keep her awake, when the door creaked open slightly. A small girl stuck her head through the doorway, her most defining feature – to Bonnie's mind at least – was her pair of clunky aqua glasses. She kept pushing them up her nose as she shuffled uncomfortably, waiting for the teacher to realise she was there.

Finally, the teacher put her out of her misery and waved her in. The girl sighed and scuttled to the desk where she dropped a piece of paper, ran a hand through tousled blonde hair, muttered a hasty string of garbled words and promptly scurried back out. The teacher picked up the paper, gave it a once over, sighed and put it back down.

Nobody was paying this whole exchange much mind though (and Keila had put her head back on her desk to sleep some more), and the class wore on. Bonnie gave up on trying to keep Keila conscious, it was too much effort and distracted her too greatly from her work. She did give her a particularly sharp jab in the ribs when class ended though.

"Wuh?" Keila spluttered, jolting upright. One hand rubbed at her side while the other scrubbed across her face, trying to erase any evidence that she might have been sleeping.

"Class is over, sleepy," Bonnie told her, packing her things up. "Go home and have a nice long nap. And some Panadol."

Keila groaned, bobbing her head. "Yes, mother."

As she was about to follow her shambling friend from the room the teacher called her over. Her shoulders stiffened automatically, expecting something bad would happen. Hesitance written all over her body language, she stepped across to the desk, hitching her bag higher nervously.

"Yes, sir?" she asked politely.

He passed her the slip of paper. "Mr Gregory would like to see you this afternoon," he said softly. "You're not in trouble," her shoulders slumped in relief, "he just wants to ask you a question."

"Alright," she said, still wary. "Thanks."

He gave her a wan smile before turning back to his things. Assuming that was a dismissal, Bonnie left. She stopped at her locker to collect her things. Pippa was waiting for her as normal.

"I have to see Gregory," she informed her friend. "You can go if you'd like."

Pippa just shrugged. "Nah, I'll wait around for you. No sense walking alone."

Gregory's office was quiet in the afternoon, most students avoiding him. While not as harsh and ear-splittingly screechy as the principal, Earl Gregory wasn't an easy man to get on with. He was often considered to be the mellow side of Principal Halte (or Halterbutt as Keila called him; he had a good deal of nicknames floating around). Personally, Bonnibel liked Lemonhead. That's what Marceline called him once and given how Halte always looked like he was sucking on a lemon, it seemed appropriate.

Pippa collapsed into a chair outside the vice-principal's office as Bonnie tapped softly. A low mutter came from inside and she took that as her cue to go in. Pushing it open, she was met by a surprisingly well lit room. That mostly had to do with the curtains being thrown wide open, but there was a neatness in the room, a lack of clutter and pastel palette that made it feel more open than it really was.

The man behind the desk was equally neat. In his crisp white shirt and beige trousers, with his short crop of blonde hair and the frown lines worn into her forehead, he was neat too. He wore a pair of silver spectacles that he took off and placed on the table in a very precise manner.

"Hello, Bonnibel," he said softly, a smile turning up the lines on his face. He gestured to the seat across the table from him. "Please sit."

She did so. Not without a small amount of fidgeting though. "What did you want to see me for?" she asked quietly, uncertain.

Gregory shifted a pencil to the other side of his desk for no apparent reason. "Your teachers have all said that you help other students in class," he stated.

"Yes," she confirmed.

"And the results from your last school indicate that you were an exemplary student." Another head bob from Bonnibel agreed with that one too. "And since one of our previous students is leaving for America next weekend, I was wondering if you'd be so kind as to take her place."

Bonnie blinked at him. "Place doing what, exactly?" she asked, trying not to sound concerned.

Gregory sighed. "We run after school tutoring sessions," he said slowly. "For two hours Monday through Thursday. It's for some of the lower grades, to help them wrap their heads around subjects. We don't have many from your grade in attendance, but they might stop by on occasion." He stopped, clearly waiting for her to reply. "It's a paying job," he added when she didn't speak.

"Oh," she stuttered. "No, that's… I…" What did she say to that? _Accept his offer_, her brain cried. Having a job would be great, no two ways about it. She may not need the job, strictly speaking, but it might be nice. She did like libraries. Four days a week for two hours… that wasn't bad… and…

"You'd start on the third of next month," Gregory went on. He was obviously hoping to sell her on this offer and worried she wouldn't bite. She smiled at the thought that they didn't have anyone else to ask.

"Alright," she said, cutting him off before he could go on. "I can do that. Sounds good."

Gregory relaxed visibly, slumping back into the padding of his chair. "Excellent. Here." He pulled a manila folder from within a desk drawer and pushed it at her. "These are all the forms you'll have to read over and fill out. Preferably have them here by Friday if you can, so they can be put through and we'll have everything made official."

Bonnie flicked through the papers, scanning headings. "Is this a general sort of tutoring?" she asked him, brain clicking over slowly as she thought about all this. "Or will I only be tutoring in some subjects?"

Gregory's eyes narrowed somewhat as he mused on that. "You'll be doing whatever the students ask you for. Although you can mention that there are some subjects you prefer over others, I guess."

She waved any more words away. "No that's fine, just asking." Bonnie lifted an eyebrow. "Can I go?"

He smiled at her now; the crinkles around his eyes resisted the expression somewhat, clearly more used to frowns and scowls. "Of course. Have the papers back to reception on Friday."

Bonnibel nodded and left, wondering if this was the right thing to do. Then again, they do say that opportunity only knocks once and who was she to turn down a job that dropped itself into her lap? Only an idiot would do that. She shook her head, wresting free of those thoughts.

Pippa leapt to her feet. "So what'd he want?" she asked, her eyes going straight to the folder. "Not something awful?"

"No," Bonnie told her softly. "He gave me a job."

"Tutoring?"

Bonnie looked up at her. Pippa's tone had been… teasing, a little dry and very perceptive. The look on her face was one of extreme amusement. "Yes. Why is that funny?"

Penelope shook her head and looped her arm through Bonnie's. "You've been here a month, Bonnibel," she said, obviously fighting back a giggle fit. "And you've been given a job by the school to help teach the kids. Normal people get a job at the bookstore or at the Apple Café. Not you though. Oh no. Little miss smarty pants gets a job at the school. It's funny."

Bonnie didn't really think so. She went with it though. What could it hurt?

* * *

**Thanks for the reviews and kind words guys. It's weird, but the mildly abrupt transitions are just something I'm fond of. I like to read them like that, so I think I've accidentally just been writing them like that too. Nice to have constructive criticism though. Cheers. :D Slow stories are the best.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Actually, I'm very rarely specific on locations. It lets folks fill in the blanks themselves. Although I did mention once that, since I'm Australian, that's generally where I write stories. Since it's summer in February though... I guess that should've been a big indication that it's not America at least.**

**Anyway. Meet the preacher.**

* * *

**Sunday 23rd February 2014**

It was long after the rest of the congregation had departed when Bonnibel finally shuffled along to the end of the pew and debated on whether to stand or not. She'd been sitting at the back for a while by this point, quietly contemplating everything that had transpired since she arrived. Which was to say, not a great deal really.

Her fingers fiddled absently with the frayed ends of the cushion in front of her. The seam was coming undone quite well, trailing red thread across the pew. Bonnie idly wondered when the last reupholstering had been done in here.

She rolled her watch over so she could see the face and sighed at the time. She'd been sitting in here for hours… well, nearly hours. Now, almost eleven in the morning, she'd been loitering in the church for two hours. Loitering. She mused on that word for a moment, amused by the image it gave when combined with 'church'.

One of the doors creaked open, letting in a short breath of air, stirring Bonnie's hair and causing her to look around. The preacher strolled through the doors, face adorned with a gentle frown, garbed in his usual black. He wasn't a very bright fellow, always dressing in greyscale tones, very boring.

Bonnibel shifted unconsciously and his gaze whipped around to her, eyes widening. "Oh," he said softly, stopping. "Are you… Why are you still here, dear?"

She shrugged. "I just… I just wanted to sit in the quiet for a little while. To think," she murmured, not at all comfortable with telling him the whole story. That was… for another time perhaps.

Still, he smiled and nodded, sliding onto the pew beside her, his hands pressed into the red leather of the seat. "My son used to do that too," he told her. "Some days he'd just sit in here for hours. He wasn't sure why, at least he never gave me a proper answer. But sometimes it's nice." His eyes turned up then, glazing over as he disappeared into the past. "He said it was the way the light comes through the stained windows," he went on in little more than a murmur.

Bonnie smiled, understanding exactly what his son had meant. "Yes," she breathed.

The reverend turned back to her, eyes refocusing on the present, and cast a hand her way. "I don't think we've been properly introduced," he said. "A shame, given you've been here a month now, correct?"

Repaying his smile with one of her own, Bonnie took the offered hand. "Bonnibel Banner."

"Hansen Abadeer," he replied. "You live with your uncle, don't you?"

She bobbed her head in affirmative. "Yes, that's right."

He eyed her strangely then, but thankfully didn't press the matter or even enquire after her parents. Those conversations always ended badly. His blue eyes searched hers though, darting from one to the other as if convinced he could find the secrets of her soul hidden in there somewhere.

"And you've settled in alright?" he asked. At her curious expression Hansen chuckled. "As the reverend it's perfectly reasonable for me to enquire of your wellbeing. The souls of everyone in town are in my care. I have to make sure they're all happy and such." He flashed her a toothy grin that looked… familiar… somehow.

She shared his smile, only hers was somewhat hazier than his. "I'm doing alright, I suppose," Bonnie told him. "As well as can be."

Hansen lifted an eyebrow. "Friends? I hope you haven't gotten mixed up with the wrong sorts."

_Like Ash?_ Bonnibel very nearly asked. For reasons she couldn't place she held that comment in. "I've got friends, yes," she said instead. "I've never been one to maintain a particularly wide circle of friends, but half a dozen is good."

He laughed at that. "Yes, I'm familiar with that sentiment," he said around a grin. "I hear you've gotten a job at the school, also."

"Wow, Pippa wasn't kidding when she said things travel fast in a small town," Bonnie replied, hoping her tone was lighter than she felt. "I start next week," she went on. "Tutoring is something I've done before. Never as an actual job, but I'm familiar with the way it works. Should be fun."

Hansen resumed chuckling at that. "Fun… Hum, yes, well. If you can enjoy your work then half the battle's already won, wouldn't you say?"

"I suppose that's true," Bonnie agreed.

_Abadeer_! her brain cried exultantly. _His name is Abadeer. Same as that grumpy girl._ Bonnie blinked as the realisation hit her. Then she had to bite back a bout of what would no doubt have proven to be uncontrollable laughter.

Marceline Abadeer, world-class sour grape and glacial, socially inept rebel-child, was the preacher's daughter. It was every bad movie trope all wrapped up in one person. And for inexplicable reasons, Bonnibel found the whole notion utterly hilarious.

Oh that was priceless.

Bonnie caught herself then, internal chuckles dying away instantly. She knew all about labels. Sucking in a deep breath, Bonnibel refused to get wrapped up in typecasts. That wouldn't do at all.

Instead, she stood, excusing herself quietly with mutterings of having something she had to do. She didn't, of course, it was just an excuse, but that was alright. Bonnie hastened from the church and stood on the grass, staring vacantly down the slope into town. Reich was small, pitifully small, consisting of a few shops (a café, a bookstore, a music shop, a few places for clothes, two restaurants, a pub complete with rooms for rent) and that was basically it. Outside of town were farms; lots of them, and the town had been set up on rolling grasslands. It was quite a nice place.

Bonnie headed down the slope from the church, aiming for the fringes of town. A hill there was capped in a single tree, spreading branches casting most of the hill's crown in shade no matter the hour. It was a nice place, overlooking the lake (not the ditch, thankfully). The area out by the lake was sparsely forested, but on the town side of the shimmering water a swathe had been cut through the trees for fields.

Yes, it was nice to sit under the tree. Even in the late summer heat it wasn't unpleasant. A light breeze coiled through the leaves, warm to be sure, but refreshing just the same.

Letting her legs fold beneath her, Bonnibel rested her head against the bark and exhaled. This was a good place to sit and just… not think. A good place to pretend everything was different.

She sat there until her stomach made her get up to eat. And if it hadn't, she probably wouldn't have moved all day.

* * *

**Reich is based on a small town in rural Australia that is so picturesque it hurts, but doesn't actually exist. Blackwater (and all other town names that appear henceforth) is a real town name, but not in the way it's described. I've just overlain real places onto this completely fabricated nonsense where geography is cheerfully ignored.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Yes, at some point I will tell you all why exactly PB moved to Reich. ****All vague foreshadowing moments will be cleared up eventually. Just hold on to your hats. Nobody ever does anything without a reason and fictional characters should be no exception. **

* * *

**Tuesday 4th March 2014**

Lord, it had been such a long Tuesday. Something about it had just dragged out unbearably. She was uncharacteristically relieved when the final bell of the day rang out through the halls. Even Keila arched an eyebrow when Bonnie sighed heavily, shoving her things back into her bag haphazardly.

"Got a hot date, have you?" Keila teased. The other girl made an emphatic point of putting her books away slowly and carefully, every movement deliberate. "I've never seen you in a hurry to get somewhere before. He must be _damn fine_."

Bonnie faltered for one moment, every muscle in her body freezing up in the same instant. Just as quickly, she thawed, recovering from her shock. "Um, no," she said flatly. "I was just really… bored?"

Keila laughed as her statement turned into a question at the end. "I get the feeling you're not too sure about your answer," she joked as they left the room. "It's okay; keep him to yourself for now. Once Eleanor finds out all bets are off, though. Know that."

Nodding absently, Bonnie went along with her theory. The advice, at least, was sound. Ellen was terrible at keeping things to herself. The rest of her speculation couldn't have been more wrong. And the longer Bonnibel pondered on the issue, the closer she got to deciding unequivocally that she'd been bored in biology this afternoon. Maybe she was just tired, or unwell or something.

Concluding that it was simply a strange warm-weather flu, she'd take some Panadol when she got home and call it an early night. No sense in being neglectful. Keila flashed her another glance, concerned this time, Bonnie thought.

"Are you sure you're alright, Bonnibel?" her friend asked. Yes, concern.

"Of course," she assured her. "I'm just tired."

Keila snorted, slamming her locker closed, but made no more of it. She rolled her eyes at Bonnibel and walked off, leaving her mostly alone in the corridor. Bonnie lingered a while, letting the students wash past her in chattering waves.

Slowly, Bonnie set off down the corridor towards the library. She didn't have to be there until three-thirty for the after school study sessions, so she didn't make any attempts at haste. Best to give the students time to get there anyway.

"Hey, Bonnibel!"

Surprised by the call, she turned around to see a red-faced Finn racing down the hallway. His hair was even messier than usual, eyes wide, a grin that didn't seem to know whether it actually wanted to be there gracing his features. Skidding to a stop beside her he doubled over to catch his breath.

"Did you run all the way from chemistry?" she asked him, a little bit awed by the possibility.

He nodded, gulping down air. "Yeah… I did. Who knew… it was so… far from here." He straightened again, still looking a little winded, cracked his back and his smile widened.

"You alright?" Bonnie laughed. "Maybe you should sit down."

He just shook his head vehemently and hitched his bag higher. The zip was part way undone, his chemistry text book protruding from the space, confirmation of his alacrity in leaving class. Finn ran a hand through his blonde locks which only contributed to its disarray.

"Can we walk?" Bonnie asked, pointing along the corridor. "I have to go to the library."

"Oh yeah," he said brightly. "Tutor. Right, sorry. Are you late?"

"No," she told him, smiling. "You can walk with me though, if you want."

"Cool," he muttered. His face was less red now than before. It was quite a run from the chemistry rooms to the library; it must've taken a lot out of him. "Yeah, and I wanted to ask you something too."

"Go for it."

As they walked, he fidgeted with the buckle on his backpack, mulling over his words. He tapped his fingers on the strap across his shoulder, stealing glances at her out of the corner of his eye. Clearly he was nervous and Bonnibel had no idea what about.

Finally, he opened his mouth. "Look, I wasn't going to ask, but I was talking to Jake and he said to just do it. So… Um… Will you go out with me this weekend?" Red once again stained his neck and cheeks; he couldn't meet her eyes either. Funny, for such an outgoing guy, he was being very timid.

Bonnie went rigid at the question. So still, she was pretty sure she wasn't even breathing. Part of her brain, the part that was still lucid and capable of coherent thought, wondered if she was going to hyperventilate.

_What do I say to that_, she asked herself, panicked. It took a massive amount of self-control to calm herself and breathe naturally. She clasped her hands around the strap on her book bag so Finn wouldn't see them shaking. She had no good answer.

Bonnie sucked in a deep breath. "No," she exhaled. "I… uh… Thanks, Finn. But no."

He nodded, rocking back onto his heels. "Busy?"

She nodded, hoping that the pathetic excuse would be alright. Her brain, on the other hand, just kept screaming 'no' at him. _Can't tell you, but no. That's all there is. Just no. No, no, no, no, no. Sorry, Finn_.

"Kay," he said. His smile wobbled, but didn't slide. She was impressed by that. "Just thought I'd ask. See you tomorrow."

Feeling like utter rubbish, she pushed the door of the library in. A cool blast of air conditioning smacked her in the face, relief from the uncomfortable warm outside, but it didn't make her feel better about letting Finn down. Actually… she hadn't been very precise in her wording. She should've made it clearer that she wasn't interested _at all_. She sighed.

So wrapped up in her head she was that Bonnie nearly walked past the sign-in sheet. Hastily, she scrawled her name down to make sure her presence was registered, then she dropped her bag and strode into the library. One wall was mostly hidden behind shelving and freestanding shelves filled a good portion of the space. The rest was filled with desks and computers. One corner had a smattering of sofas sprawled out under a window. Almost nobody ever sat there. It was hard to get work done.

"Hey," called a low voice over by the end of the room. A pair of girls and a boy were sitting huddled together over a desk, probably doing maths homework. They always were. Smiling, Bonnie headed towards them, pulling up a chair to inspect their work.

Two of them, a girl and the boy, were spitting images of each other, twins called Laurel and Arden, both with curly brown hair and hazel eyes. The other, Bianca, was blonde and blue eyed with big teal glasses. All three were three years younger than she was and easily as enthusiastic as Finn about most things. They had commandeered her attentions yesterday, digging for answers to all of their woes. Sadly, Bonnibel didn't have all the answers. She could help them with their maths though. And in the end, that's what mattered.

Today it wasn't maths they had stretched out in front of them, but physics. "Need help, I take it?" she asked them teasingly.

Arden sighed, running a hand through his curls, explaining the way it stuck out everywhere. "Yeah," he moaned, stabbing his pen angrily at the page. "It's like it just doesn't want to make sense."

Bonnie chuckled at him. "Luckily, science makes more sense to me than people do. Let's see what we have here."

* * *

Marceline strode through into the library chewing on her lip, very much in a mood to break something. Her lamp had better watch itself later. Not that she really knew _why_ she was feeling so… destructive. Ok no, that was a lie. She'd argued with her dad. What a shocker.

Why he couldn't just be happy with how she was, Marceline didn't know. But he was always on her about being a _nicer_ person, a more _social_ person. 'You can't make it through life without friends,' he said. 'It wouldn't kill you to be civil,' he said. So she was grumpy. Big deal.

Scowling furiously at the carpet, Marceline stalked across the library and sank into one of the sofas. Everybody avoided her over here, and she was free to study in peace. Despite what everyone else (uh… Eleanor) said about her, she really did care about her education. Get good grades, finish high school with a flourish, leave home, move somewhere far away from her dad, never speak to him again, be awesome. A flawless plan if she did say so herself. But all of that hinged on her actually getting those good grades. And for that, she had to study.

She stuffed ear buds in and cranked up the volume of her device, hoping to drown out the inane babble of the others in the library with her. It worked for the most part and she fixed her attention to her chemistry paper. The biggest problem with it was that chemistry didn't make sense to her.

After staring at it for a while, chewing on the end of her pen, she looked up and around. Sometimes Welsh would come to these things and if she needed help right now, the chemistry teacher was the exact person to talk to. What day was it? Tuesday? Yeah, Welsh came in on Tuesdays a lot of the time. She threw a hand over the back of the chair to prop herself up and scanned the room.

Welsh was nowhere to be seen. However, her little redheaded chemistry partner was sitting with a few younger kids… staring at her. Marceline blinked, before affixing a glare to her face. The girl looked away. Marceline continued to look around, music thudding in her ears, drowning out even her own thoughts.

She decided she could work it out on her own. It couldn't be that hard, surely… Marceline flicked back a few pages in her text book, searching for something enlightening.

The couch dipped beside her.

"Need a hand?" a soft voice enquired.

Not even bothering with niceties, she ripped her ear buds out and levelled a glower at Bonnibel. "No. Go away."

"I am here to help, you know," the princess told her tartly.

"I don't want your help."

Bonnibel sighed. "Seriously? You're going to be childish? You've been staring at the same page for twenty minutes."

Marceline's eyes narrowed. So now the girl was stalking her. Great. "I said, go away."

"Why are you even here if you don't want help?"

This was getting silly. Marceline snapped her book closed and tucked it into her bag, standing. "None of your business, princess. Leave me alone."

With that, and Bonnibel's eyes still on her back, Marceline stormed from the library. It grated that she was being forced from the only safe place she knew of. She wouldn't go home. She'd sit on her hill. Yeah.

She was in such a foul mood, that she didn't even realise she'd left her music player behind.

* * *

**First off, I don't mean this to sound condescending to anyone AT ALL because I understand sometimes I can be really vague about stuff and things are a little unclear at times. I've been there. But I figured if I was going to explain this, I'd do it right and hopefully answer future questions before they're even thought of.**

**I don't know if I posted here or on Tumblr or how many people even noticed, but I put A LOT of thought into 90% of the names I use. In this, Ellen is a bit of an exception (one of a few I think - I just liked how the name worked in regards to LSP in the show). But her surname in _A Thing About You_ actually meant 'star' since, you know, she has a star on her face. In this one, some obvious names carry over (Jake, Finn, Bonnie, Marceline) and some names are used simply because of how they work in relation to the characters in the show (Peter Minton as Peppermint Butler for instance - Peter actually cameoed in _A Thing_ as well and had a red and white checked towel - in case you didn't notice). Charlie in _A Thing_ was a very vague reference to Lord Monochromicorn wherein I used Charlie the Unicorn as an inspiration. Also in _A Thing_ was Manfried the Pinata guy who starred as the doorman/bouncer at PB's parents' house. **

**The town, Reich, is named for its German translation which means 'Kingdom' (pretty sure anyway, my friend will cop it if it's not). ****Bonnie's surname in this was originally something else but I changed it because 'Banner' worked better for some little reasons. Even the Tiffany reference in whatever chapter that was, was a nod to the character from the show who wanted to be Jake's bestie. **

**For reference, if the character is important in anyway whatsoever ****then their name got more than ten seconds thought thrown their way **(spoilers: Welsh [Science the Rat], Cooter [Turtle Princess], Leonard Halte [Lemongrab], Earl Gregory [Lemongrab 2], Ivy [Tree Trunks], Norman, Cherry [those last two should be obvious, but I'll post at the end of that chapter who they are just in case], Hayden and the deacon all qualify). The character Maggie is also a reference but to the artist who's album this story is based on.

**My point is that if at any point in this drivel I'm putting out there, you get a little bit confused as to who a character is meant to be, Google the character's name in the story and find out the meaning behind it.**

**TheJadedRebellion, no that's not a stupid question, all enquiries are valid and will be happily answered. I'm really sorry that you're confused. Let me just (first off) suggest that you reread the bit in chapter three where she's introduced. And if you're still boggled, you might find this interesting:**

**Given Name: _Pippa_; a girl's name, Greek in origin and means 'lover of horses'. (Her full name, Penelope, has - over time - come to mean 'loyal'.)**

**Surname: _Philips_; variant of 'Philip' (masculine as a given name), also Greek (although the variant Phipps is Old English). It too means 'lover of horses'.**

**If that's still no good, she's Lady Rainicorn (she is dating Jake, btw).**

**Sorry that got a little bit rambly, but I think it's probably about time everyone realised that names aren't pulled from hats. So there you go. Names and their meanings/origins are a bit of a hobby I have. I get really into it and absolutely NEVER name a character without putting in a little bit of thought (unless they exist to do just... nothing).**


	9. Chapter 9

**So this week you get two chapters since I'll be out of town next week at a con.**

* * *

**Friday 7th March 2014**

It was a dead weight in her pocket, pulling her down, dragging at her hip and threatening to tip her over. It burned through her jeans, an ember just waiting to scald her, set her on fire, let the whole world know it was there. It sat there, distracting her with thoughts of guilt and barely contained curiosity. It. Just. Sat there.

Unconsciously, Bonnie slipped a finger into her pocket to tap one nail against the hard surface. _Click. Click. Click_. It didn't appear to be going anywhere, it wasn't making life easy for her and it certainly wasn't doing anything to help her concentrate.

She'd been sitting in the library for most of her spare now, staring out the window. Tumultuous thoughts tumbled around in her brain, keeping her from doing anything constructive. Her pen had been bobbing loosely in her fingers for the better part of twenty minutes and she just couldn't stop her stomach from clenching again. Anxiety battled with a full-on, _desperate_ desire to know.

To know everything she could about it.

Her fingers itched to pull it from her pocket and turn it over in her fingers like she had yesterday, the day before as well and the day before that even. She longed to just look at it. To stare at the socket on one end and wonder how bad it could possibly be to plug it in and just… just have a quick look.

She pulled her hand away from her pocket and resumed her nervous twitching on top of her desk. It, on the other hand, just kept burning through her jeans. This was insane.

Bonnibel made a decision right then and there that she'd just look. She'd just plug it in and have a look. That would make her feel so much better. Yes. Feeling better about the resolution, she bent back over her book, intent on getting something done this hour.

Only she didn't. Because the bell rang, signalling the end of the day.

Bonnie sighed, watching the other students in the library stream from the building, relieved. Most of them were gone by the time she headed for the door and once she'd sorted out what to take home with her, nearly no one was left on the campus. It emptied pretty quickly on a Friday afternoon. Nobody, not even the staff, wanted to linger.

Slinging her bag across her shoulders, Bonnibel headed for the hill on the outskirts of town. It wasn't far, and had become one of her favourite places to sit when she needed to think. Sometimes she'd sit up there to study on the weekends. It wasn't her usual practice when she lived in Ormeau to study outside, but there was something refreshing about the breeze that flowed beneath the branches. Something soothing about leaning against the tree; it didn't judge her, or make hasty leaps about her personality; it just stood there, watching, listening, patient. It was nice.

Sliding down to sit between two massive, gnarled roots, Bonnie pulled the little black object from her pocket. For about five minutes, she sat there, just regarding it wonderingly. She'd kept it charged for three days, hoping that she'd either be brave enough to listen to what it could tell her, or return it to the owner.

She rotated it in her fingers. It was warm (from being in her pocket, not for some other mysterious reason), it was worn too, smooth on one side, the little symbols on the buttons long erased by continued use. Bonnie sucked in a deep breath and bit the bullet.

Her headphones clicked as they plugged into the device. Her finger paused then, hovering just above the menu button, hesitant, wary of invading privacy, of finding something she wouldn't like. She pressed the button.

The song last played, crooned softly into her ear and her eyes widened. She hadn't thought to find something so soft and gentle on here. She scrolled through the songs, not knowing most of them, but the longer she sat there, scouring the list, the more songs played into her head. The bass that reverberated off the inside of her skull, the melodies that threatened to put her to sleep, the riffs that stirred something in her chest she hadn't felt before. All of these songs – every last one of them – contained an abundance of emotion. Not a limited spectrum either, but the full range. From melancholy to rage, from heartbreak to purest devotion, all the way from soul-tearing, gut-wrenching tear jerkers, to peppy, upbeat, 'let's dance the night away' songs. Bonnie's mind was blown.

Slowly, she unplugged the headphones, letting the device's inbuilt speakers continue to cover her with sounds. It sat there, balanced on one of her knees, an enigma she'd never expected. And it played music.

"Hey."

The softness of the voice interrupting her internal dissection of the songs was unexpected to say the least. Bonnibel sat up straight. The device wobbled, nearly falling, but her hand shot out to keep it in place while her eyes searched for whoever had spoken.

Just rounding the last of the tree's impressive girth now, was Marceline. With her hands in her pockets and a gentle frown arching over her eyes, black hair pulled messily into a tail, shirt unbuttoned and slipping on one shoulder, exposing the top beneath. She was the very picture of laid back and uncaring. But her eyes, those blue, _blue_ eyes, were boring into Bonnie's soul and tearing her apart.

"Where did you get that?" Marceline asked, nodding at the music player.

_Oh carp_, Bonnie's brain mumbled. She had no idea what to say to that. She floundered for an answer, finally deciding that it was probably a bad idea to let Marceline know she'd had it a while.

"I found it in the library today in my spare," she lied, trying not to sound uncertain. "I was just checking to see if any of the playlists might tell me whose it was." She paused, brow crinkling in false thought. Then, "Is it yours?"

Marceline nodded silently. Bonnibel got the impression that words weren't her strong suit. Which was odd given how expressive every last song she had here was. Carefully, uncertain, she patted the spot beside her, something even Marceline couldn't fail to interpret.

With a soft huffing, Marceline crumpled, legs folding underneath her as she basically fell to the ground. Legs crossed in front of her, arms folded, Marceline was a perfect picture of defensive and cold. She didn't even look Bonnie in the eye, didn't so much as reach out for her device, probably so she didn't risk contact with her.

Bonnibel pursed her lips, her frown deepening in thought, real now. Questions, statements, and vague general wonderings all crashed around in her mind, vying for dominance, to be the one that was spoken. She knew, though, that making assumptions was wrong. She wouldn't do that. "There're a lot of good songs on here," Bonnie put forth carefully; wary of shattering whatever strained truce existed between them at the moment.

Marceline's eyes flicked her way, curious, intrigued. "You listen to music?"

Bonnie smiled. "Duh, who doesn't? I'm not as widely versed as you, but I know enough."

The other girl looked away again, nodding slowly. She still made no attempt to retrieve her music though. Idly, Bonnie wondered why. Actually, there were a lot of things she wanted to know about Marceline. But… it was probably rude to. Given the dislike hanging in the air between them.

"Can I ask you a question?" she eventually blurted, giving up her internal debate on the subject.

Once again, those electric blue eyes shot her way. Marceline shrugged, but she looked wary, a caged animal that knew it was about to be prodded with the shock-rod and couldn't do anything about it. It… hurt, to be looked at like that.

"Why wouldn't you let me help you with your chemistry?"

Marceline blinked at her. "That's your question?"

"Yes."

Surprisingly, Marceline's mouth curled up into a sort of… smile. Well, it wanted to be a smile, Bonnie thought, but it wasn't quite. It was that animal realising there was no jolt of electricity today, but perhaps there was something else. What that 'something else' might be, Bonnibel wasn't sure.

But she wanted to find out.

"I… uh… I don't know," Marceline confessed. She didn't sound sheepish, but there was a tinge of pink in her cheeks that hadn't been there earlier. "I just don't see the point of being friendly with you."

"I wasn't asking to be your friend," Bonnie pointed out. "I was doing my job."

Marceline bobbed her head. "True. Maybe… Maybe I don't want to be associated with you."

"Why?"

"My turn to ask a question," Marceline said sharply. But it wasn't quite as sharp as usual and that ghostly smile hadn't disappeared yet. "Why do you _want_ to help me?"

"Because I can help," Bonnie told her simply.

Her mouth didn't quite close. "Seriously?"

Bonnibel just shrugged half-heartedly. "I can help people, so why shouldn't I?"

"Because it's silly and selfless and saintlike," Marceline told her wryly.

"Can I ask another question?"

"Shoot."

"Why do you come to the after school sessions anyway?"

Marceline hunched her shoulders. "I don't like studying at home. I like the quiet of the library."

"Okay."

Marceline's eyes widened a good deal then. "No questions on _why_ I don't like being at home?"

"Nope."

"Why not?"

"You won't tell me," Bonnie replied, leaning her head back against the bark and staring up at the leaves. "So there's no point in asking." She rolled her head to the side to look at Marceline. "I'm right, aren't I?"

Marceline just sighed. She was hiding things, it was really quite easy to tell, Bonnibel decided. For all that Marceline tried to be difficult and mysterious; she wasn't so hard to read. Bonnie didn't press her though; she stood and held out her hand with the music player in it. Marceline regarded it for a moment as she might look at a poisonous creature. Or a shock-rod. Then she took the device and slipped it into her pocket.

"Does your dad ever lock up the church?" Bonnie asked quietly, eyes fixed on the building in question.

Marceline bit back a sound suspiciously like a gasp and shook her head. "No," she said a little hoarsely. "Never. He believes that the house of God should be open always."

"Thanks," Bonnie replied sincerely.

She started to head towards the church, but froze when Marceline called, "Wait." Bonnibel turned, confused. The other girl was standing there, staring at her, although when Bonnie stared right back she ripped her eyes away and fixed them on the ground between them, shuffling her feet. "You uh… You know my dad's the preacher?"

"Yes," Bonnie said, still pretty confused. "So?"

Marceline's mouth worked soundlessly for a moment. "Why… Why wasn't your question about me being a 'proper' preacher's daughter?"

Bonnibel smiled at her gently, heart going out to the girl. "Because you're more than just your association with your father, Marceline," Bonnie informed her. "Being the 'preacher's daughter' is nothing but a label and I know all about labels. Nothing good can come of them. There's no such thing as a 'proper' preacher's daughter. You're just you."

With that she left. Marceline watched her go with a slack jaw and wide eyes, stunned.


End file.
